Shopping for a Billionaire’s Wife by Julia Kent #bookblitz + #Giveaway

Shopping for a Billionaire’s Wife
Julia Kent
(Shopping for a Billionaire #8)
Publication date: March 23rd 2016
Genres: Comedy, New Adult, Romance

Who needs a SWAT team to escape from their own wedding? Me.

My Momzilla turned us into hostages at our own ceremony, so Declan and I are getting married the good old-fashioned way, just like everybody else.

By calling in his private security team, stealing away before the ceremony by helicopter, connecting to his corporate jet and heading for Las Vegas.

The Boston wedding of the year is about to become a trashy Elvis drive-thru ceremony.

Until the best man spills the beans and Mom, Dad, my sisters, his brothers, my maid of honor, my friend Josh, and even my cat, Chuckles, all come along for the ride.

I can’t win, can I?

Oh. Yeah. I already did.

Love conquers all.

Even my crazy family.

Shopping for a Billionaire’s Wife is the 8th book in the New York Times and USA Today bestselling Shopping for a Billionaire series. After Declan convinces Shannon to escape from their own wedding minutes before the ceremony begins, the madcap adventures are just getting started. When the mother of the bride pries their location out of the tortured best man, the whole crazy crew follows the bride and groom to Las Vegas in this romantic comedy from Julia Kent.

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EXCERPT:

We are at a private airport I’ve never seen before. The sky is that glorious shade of blue that seems to deepen as you look up, with a smattering of clouds that draw the eye to them. It’s a perfect, idyllic July day in Massachusetts.

A great day for an outdoor wedding.

Declan and the helicopter pilot, whose name I never caught, exchange a few words in Russian before I rib my soon-to-be husband and whisper, “Would you please speak in English?”

“Why?”

“Why?”

He just stares at me with that intimidatingly blank face.

“That doesn’t work, you know,” I tell him with a pointed sneer. Or, at least, I try to sneer. I’m not so good at the sneering thing. That’s more Jessica Coffin’s area of expertise.

He doesn’t twitch a muscle. For whatever reason, he doesn’t want me to know what he and the pilot are talking about. Fine. Fine!

But this alpha-male dominant crap – you know, the stuff I fell in love with him for – is getting on my nerves.

“Declan, please,” I concede.

No change.

The exasperated hiss that comes out of me makes my body flush with fury. “It’s our wedding day. I am supposed to be kissing you at the altar right now while the minister pronounces us husband and wife. Instead, I listened to you and went along with this crazy scheme to run off to Las Vegas and leave everyone – everyone! — behind.”

Side note: I know that’s not true. The decision to ditch my mother was mutual. But right now, I have zero leverage, and he’s giving me that granite look like he’s an Easter Island statue, so I have to find some kind of vulnerability in him.

I’m saving sex for the nuclear option.

SFABW teaser 2

 

Author Bio:

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge, and new adult books that push contemporary boundaries. From billionaires to BBWs to rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every book she writes, but unlike Trevor from Random Acts of Crazy, she has never kissed a chicken.

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Shopping for a Billionaire’s Fiancee by Julia Kent #bookblitz

Shopping for a Billionaire’s Fiancee
Julia Kent
(Shopping for a Billionaire #6)
Publication date: February 26th 2015
Genres: Comedy, New Adult, Romance

All of our best dates end up in the emergency room….

I planned the perfect proposal. Plenty of lobster, caviar, champagne and–her favorite–tiramisu. The perfect setting. The perfect woman. The perfect everything.

Dad gave me my late mother’s engagement ring, platinum and diamonds galore. Shannon wouldn’t care if I slid a giant hard-candy ring on her finger instead of a three-carat diamond designed to impress. But my future mother-in-law, Marie, will pass out when she sets eyes on that rock, which will give us two minutes of blessed silence. That woman talks more than Kim Kardashian flashes her naked backside on the internet.

I was going to make it perfect, from the color of the tablecloth to the freshness of the roses. And it was perfect.

Until Shannon swallowed the ring.

* * *

Shopping for a Billionaire’s Fiancée gives near-billionaire Declan McCormick the chance to tell his story in this continuation of the New York Times and USA Today bestselling Shopping for a Billionaire series.

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EXCERPT:

Shannon has no idea how many layers of beauty she has. And that’s exactly why she’s so exquisite.

When I was sixteen, the year before my mother died, Mom took me and my little brother, Andrew, to New York City for a long weekend. Pulled us out of school over the objections of the headmaster at our academy. Mom didn’t care. We spent three nights at the Waldorf Astoria, skated at Rockefeller Center, had the best seats at the top Broadway musicals, and dined on the finest footlongs you could get for $3. Loaded with mustard and sauerkraut, plus a cream soda or two.

(Do you have something against footlongs? Too bad. Two teenagers can only handle so much caviar and lobster.)

What I remember most about that trip, and what Shannon reminds me of every moment I look at her, was our trip to the Museum of Modern Art. Mom insisted we go, and Andrew and I rolled our eyes like sets of dice at a craps table.

And then.

And then I got it, right there in front of a Vincent van Gogh masterpiece. In art history class we’d covered this painting in detail. We were taught the biography of Van Gogh, how he came to create the series of paintings, his motivation, and his flaws. We’d dissected the meaning so thoroughly that I felt like I could recreate the art by automation, our elite prep-school instruction clinical and impeccable.

Standing in front of the painting, a few feet away, with my eyes trailing the curve of brush strokes, my mind taking in the nuance of color, my senses dazzled by the sheer essence of the whole, I halted. Froze. Was completely in the painting’s spell.

You can study something in the abstract. Know it’s real somewhere out there in the world, and understand intellectually that what you read in a book or what you’re told by someone else is true.

You have to stand in front of it and have it stare back at you, though, to really know it.

That’s how I feel when I look at Shannon. Every single time my eyes find her. Shannon’s smile is warm and sweet, yet better every time she flashes it at me. Her honey-colored hair shines in the sunlight but looks richer when it’s tangled, in bed, highlighted by the moon and messed by me. Those warm eyes see only me when we’re together. That luscious body craves my touch. My hands. My…all of it.

When I’m with her, the world is more nuanced. Deeper. Authentic. Real.

She’s a work of art, one of a kind. And one I get to hold next to my body, tuck away in my heart, and…grow old with.

I have planned the perfect proposal. No footlongs and sauerkraut, unfortunately, but plenty of lobster, caviar, champagne and—her favorite—tiramisu. (What is it with women and tiramisu? It’s cream, cheese, sugar, cake and rum, not some magic potion that generates mouth orgasms. My Y chromosome scratches its head in confusion, but hey, if it’s her favorite…I give my woman what she wants.)

Dad gave me Mom’s engagement ring, platinum and diamonds galore, a monstrosity he’d bought for her nearly four decades ago as his business took off. The ring is designed to impress. I doubt Shannon would care if I slid a giant hard-candy ring on her finger instead of a three-carat diamond.

And, frankly, I don’t care, either. But the thought of my Shannon sharing such an important part of my mother’s life makes my chest swell. Only Shannon—and my mom—can do that. Only love can do that.

Plus, Marie will pass out when she sets eyes on that rock, and that will give us two minutes of blessed silence. That woman talks more than Kim Kardashian flashes her naked ass on the internet.

“It’s not as if your brothers are planning to tie themselves down to one woman any time soon, if ever,” Dad had said when he gave it to me. He’s about as sentimental as a pet rock. After having it resized to fit my future fiancée, it was ready to rest on yet another McCormick woman’s finger.

It was going to be calculatedly perfect, down to the color of the tablecloth and the freshness of the roses.

And it was perfect.

Until Shannon swallowed the ring.

 

Author Bio:

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge, and new adult books that push contemporary boundaries. From billionaires to BBWs to rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every book she writes, but unlike Trevor from Random Acts of Crazy, she has never kissed a chicken.

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For an entry for one (1) ebook copy of Shopping for a Billionaire’s Fiancee. Leave me a comment below and tell me if you are a Julia Kent fan (like myself), and if so, what is your favorite book. Open internationally.
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Becoming Blue by Angie M. Brashears book blitz

Becoming Blue
Angie M. Brashears
(January 15th 2016)
Publication date: January 12th 2016
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance

Every single thing I’ve been taught not to do…I just did.

Talk to a stranger? Check

Get in a car with a stranger? Check

Go to a second location? Check

Go into a stranger’s house? Check

Take candy from a stranger? Check

If this is a kidnapping, it’s the kindest one I’ve ever heard of.

I’m living a fat girl fantasy. Snatched from a Weight Watcher meeting by a powdered-donut eating stranger, was by far the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me. Who knew I didn’t need to make appointments or attend meetings to have someone to talk to. A Friend. Two Friends. A dark, intense stranger. Secrets.

Everything I ever wanted, and something’s I didn’t. Not every tasty treat is for eating.

To each his own….right?

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EXCERPT:

“Take another bite of that rice that I worked so hard on for you, now.” Husky, but there is no doubt it’s a command, so I do.

He leans his head back, eyes on me, and continues to stroke his long shaft, tip to stem, through his jeans. “More,” he says, his eyes never leaving my mouth. Two more bites go in. I can barely chew around the food. “Faster, keep going, stuff those pink lips, Blue.” I can see just the tip of his tanned man muscle peeking at me above his waistband, leaving a trail of pre-cum on his tight stomach.

I crunch into a taquito dripping with guacamole, and chew. I can’t stop watching his hand. I’ve never seen a guy I want, rub himself off so blatantly. Is that all for me? I chew, trying to swallow, and meet his eyes.

“That’s so fucking sexy, Blue. You don’t know what that does to me, to watch you eat what I’ve made with my own two hands. I want to keep that big tummy of yours full of my food, nourish and satisfy you. That’s my job, baby girl, and I take it seriously.” He stands, opening the fridge, and pulls out a large baking dish. It’s flan, dripping with caramel, and he sits it right on my half-full plate, his hand never leaving his cock.

When I feel like I can speak, I ask, “No spoon?”

He’s so close, I can feel heat radiating from him, and he smells like hot sin. “You won’t need one.”

Leaning into my hair, he takes a deep breath of me, inhaling me in, leaning into me further. I can feel his cock rubbing the outside of my arm, but I want it on my breast.

“Time for dessert, baby girl, and if you wanna make Daddy proud, you’ll eat every morsel,” he pushes his hard length right up against my breast. The contact feels like he’s branding me right through his jeans.

I look down his body, trying to look anywhere but at the slow-pulsing cock escaping out of his pants.

His long fingers reach into the dish of flan, poking a hole through the top. Using two fingers, he moves nice and slow, finger-fucking the sticky dessert. I can’t look away. It’s obscene, and it’s making me drip. I shift in my chair, snugging my full breast right up against his hardness. His fingers move leisurely, in and out, in and out. My lips are dry, all the wetness in my body pooling at my core, making my underwear as sticky as the dish. I can’t stop imagining those fingers dragging through my own hot wetness, searching for my entrance.

A moan, low and slutty, escapes from my parched lips at the thought. I lick them, but my spit isn’t the wetness I seek.

His bulge rocks against the side of my boob, that peeking, weeping big head bulging with veins just inches from my jaw. If I moved, just a bit to the right, leaned into him a little, I could kiss the tip. My head drifts in that direction, but his hand comes up and tightens at the base of my skull, holding me in place. “Don’t move,” he says, all business.

His fingers are coated with sweetness, and he hooks them as he skims the top of the flan grabbing a big scoopful.

The hand at the back of my head moves to cup my chin firmly in place.

“Open.”

My mouth drops open at the command. Leaning down, he looks me in the eye and says, “Wider.” All low and dirty. And I do. I close my eyes as he jams the scoopful between my lips. His fingers caress my tongue on the way out. A sound of pleasure escapes me, a sound I’m sure I’ve never made before. Guess that’s why they call it the ‘spice kitchen.’

My eyes follow his fingers, which dig back into the dish. He trails two ragged grooves through the flan with those fingers, scooping more. I open my mouth, waiting, but he smears the tip of his cock with the sweetness, then pokes those same fingers in between my lips. I suck them clean, swirling my tongue around them, making sure to get every drop of Javi-laced flan.

“That’s it, eat what Daddy gives you.” I feel his other hand at the back of my head, urging me down to the mess at the top of his waistband. “Taste me,” he whispers, and I do. “Lick that dirty monkey, make him clean.” I do, not caring for this dirty talk. ‘Dirty monkey.’ That’s a new one, even to my virgin ears.

His tastes like salted caramel. My tongue swirls the head, and with each go around I try to go lower, lick the hidden depths, trying to get inside those jeans. “Greedy little piggy.” It sounds so hot from his lips, I moan for him.

He steps back to rip open the button fly, shoving his underwear down. “This monkey wants out of his cage.”

I watch, licking my lips as he leans over the dish and places his full balls right into the flan. My hands itch to touch him.

Gripping the sides of the table, he drags his thick cock through the flan, burrowing a long deep tunnel right through the middle. He’s fucking the flan, making me wish it was my long deep tunnel he was drilling.

He pulls his dick out, and it’s obscene. Full of curds, dripping with caramel.

“Lick me clean.”

I get to work, licking the tip, down his shaft, sucking each of his balls into my mouth. Only after he’s clean does he push his penis to my flushed face. “Kiss it, Blue, just the tip. Do not get greedy.” My insides turn over at the husk in his voice, the sexy glimmer in his eye. He is by far the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I do as he commands, light kisses, all lip, and no tongue, really working the head of his penis. He groans and shoves his fingers into the ruined flan.

Stroking his cock with the remaining flan, he pushes past my lips into my wet mouth. A sigh escapes. He smells like a Mexican bakery, cinnamon, sugar and spice, my favorite. I suck dessert off him, moving my mouth further and further down his shaft, wanting all that he is offering. He lets me control the tempo, I can’t even watch his face, just his fingers twirling and digging into the dessert on the table.

I let his cock plop out of my mouth, and I move to his fingers, which are hidden in the flan. I lick the trail his dick made through the top, coming to his fingers. I eat my way down to them, sucking one and then the other clean. He moans, jerks, grabs a towel, and let’s himself go, cumming into a dishtowel as I eat the dessert he’s made for me. I turn back towards his dick, hoping he’ll let me lick him clean again, but this time he turns away, zipping his pants. “I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?”

“You did everything perfect, too perfect.” He clears his throat and continues, “I’m just embarrassed, Blue.” Before I can protest or say anything, he pushes on the spice rack door, leaving the room.

I don’t know what just happened, can I be sued for sexual harassment? Even if I wasn’t the one who brought the flan?

Getting up, I feel sticky head to toe, and unsatisfied. Fuck the dishes, let Mr. Embarrassed clean his own mess. I head to my room with the wonderful smell of caramel wafting all around me.

 

Author Bio:

Angie M Brashears is a lover of everything books. When not writing, she’s reading anything she can get her hands on. She grew up in Southern California, and loves the mountains, hiking with her dogs, the beach, and of course, Disneyland! She loves music, and loves singing along to the radio, loud and off-key, performing for anyone unlucky enough to be in the passenger seat.

Angie loves dark and twisted, which she refers to as Dark Ever After books, but is known to read an occasional HEA story as well. When she’s not writing, she working, saving lives. A busy Trauma ER nurse for over twenty years, she gets enough reality in her life, and is always looking for a story to take her away from the harsh reality of Emergency Nursing.

If there’s football on, she sure to have a huge party going on to cheer her team on…Go Patriots!

As a new author, she’d love to hear from you!

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Random on Tour: Los Angeles by Julia Kent book blitz

Random on Tour: Los Angeles
Julia Kent
(Random Series #7)
Publication date: July 19th 2015
Genres: Comedy, New Adult, Romance

BOOK SEVEN IN THE NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING RANDOM SERIES:

I guzzled another flute of Champagne and froze, the liquid in my throat, waiting to be swallowed.

Tyler was here.

We’d met a few times before, in passing. He was the substitute bass player for the band; I was the lead guitar player’s girlfriend’s best friend. In that weird sort of social circle thing where Venn diagrams get laid over different groups, Tyler and I were bound to be in the crossover once in a while.

He looked so hot. Short brown hair. A few days of beard. Bright green eyes that were more guarded than a Russian mobster’s. He was sleeved, the colorful tattoos a tapestry, but every time I met him I couldn’t quite see them. We only saw each other in dark concert halls, or tonight, under the stars.

He gave Sam a rare smile and a hearty handshake, forearm muscles bulging. I wondered what it would be like to have those hands on me. My fingers tracing those tats. Listening to him tell me the story of his body while he forgave mine.

Forgave it for failing me.

I shook my head fast to banish the thoughts that drew me into places so dark they became black holes of the soul. The gravity of trauma had a way of sucking all the good into it, and tonight I wasn’t going to let that happen. The opposite, in fact.

Tonight I was going to sleep with Tyler.

He didn’t know it yet, but that was okay. He would. Soon.

* * *

Random on Tour: Los Angeles is the 7th book in the New York Times bestselling Random series, the ongoing story of the up-and-coming rock band, Random Acts of Crazy. When the band’s bass player, Joe Ross, gets injured in an unfortunate sex act that gains nationwide coverage, it’s tatted-up Tyler (aka “Frown”) to the rescue for their first big concert.

There’s only one problem: the morning of his flight to L.A. he wakes up to find someone’s stolen all his money, his bass, his ID, and his pride. When he shows up at Maggie’s doorstep to ask her to drive him from their hometown of St. Louis all the way to L.A., these two damaged people learn quickly that being independent doesn’t always mean being free…

Warning: This book deals with the very difficult topic of sexual assault and rape, and I’ve taken great care to address this with the sensitivity and respect it deserves.

None of the scenes in the book contain sexual violence, though the characters do tell their stories of past sexual violence. None of those descriptions is graphic or gratuitous. This book is about hope and healing, but the characters do have past trauma that they discuss.

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On sale for 99¢ from Dec 3-10!

EXCERPT:

Maggie

I guzzled another flute of Champagne and froze, the liquid in my throat, waiting to be swallowed.

Tyler was here.

We’d met a few times before, in passing. He was the substitute bass player for the band; I was the lead guitar player’s girlfriend’s best friend. In that weird sort of social circle thing where Venn diagrams get laid over different groups, Tyler and I were bound to be in the crossover once in a while.

He looked so hot. Short brown hair. A few days of beard. Bright green eyes that were more guarded than a Russian mobster’s. He was sleeved, the colorful tattoos a tapestry, but every time I met him I couldn’t quite see them. We only saw each other in dark concert halls, or tonight, under the stars.

He gave Sam a rare smile and a hearty handshake, forearm muscles bulging. I wondered what it would be like to have those hands on me. My fingers tracing those tats. Listening to him tell me the story of his naked body while he forgave mine.

Forgave it for failing me.

I shook my head fast to banish the thoughts that drew me into places so dark they became black holes of the soul. The gravity of trauma had a way of sucking all the good into it, and tonight I wasn’t going to let that happen. The opposite, in fact.

Tonight I was going to fuck Tyler.

He didn’t know it yet, but that was okay. He would. Soon.

“Maggie?” Charlotte handed me another drink and gave me a half-smile. “You look like you’re a million miles away.”

I ran one hand through my orange hair and drank some more courage. Not too much, but not too little. The only action I’d seen in five years involved my own hands and devices with batteries, and that had been torture. I didn’t quite count a few kisses with guys in bars on dance floors that smelled like sour alcohol and bleach. Those furtive attempts to prove I could let someone touch me sexually had been more like mini therapy sessions than anything arousing.

Tyler was definitely arousing.

“I’m ready,” I whispered, willing the shake to leave my voice.

Her already-big eyes widened, like white globes with brown pools in the middle. Charlotte’s dark, straight hair was cut with bangs that were so perfect they were like a blade.

“Tyler? You’re picking a guy whose nickname is Frown for your first…oh, Maggie, are you sure?”

My eyes met hers.

“You are sure,” she hissed, sucking air in through her teeth. Charlotte was nothing if not tactful and cool under pressure as long as she was dealing with someone else’s crisis. She was clearly weighing her judgment. “I know you were thinking about doing this, but…him?”

I just nodded, then shrugged. “It has to be someone, right? He’s nice. Kind of rough in an appealing way. Non-judgmental. Not at all hard on the eyes.”

“No, not at all,” Charlotte said, interrupting me. She rolled her lips in as if fixing her lipstick. I knew she was curating Tyler. Evaluating him. Biting her lips and assessing him like a specimen. Was he Maggie worthy? She was deciding.

“And he doesn’t talk. No feelings to worry about. Easy peasy. How many guys get a one-night stand offer from a chick?” I asked, my tone far lighter than my heart. My palms began to sweat. My face, too. I felt a drop trickle between my breasts. I’d worn actual lingerie today, a bra and panties that were made in this decade and that matched.

Just in case. Just…in case.

Author Bio:

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men’s room toilet (and he isn’t a billionaire).

She lives in New England with her husband and three sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down.

She loves to hear from her readers by email at jkentauthor@gmail.com, on Twitter @jkentauthor, on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/jkentauthor . Visit her at http://jkentauthor.com

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